What We Learn
by SignsofSam
Summary: What if John never told the boys about what really happened to Mary? What would happen if he left for a weekend hunting and something came to hunt his boys?


**Title:** What We Learn

**Author**: SNbrown

**Disclaimer**: I do **not** own supernatural, unfortunately. So, only this idea is mine.

**Summary: **What if John never told the boys about what really happened to Mary? What would happen if he left for a weekend hunting and something came to hunt his boys?

**Word Count:**3200 words

**Author's notes:** I should be doing schoolwork, but this thing has been in my mind FOREVER, and it's been sitting on my computer about that long, too. I've had several ending for it, but I think this one is best (much better than the one where dean died, yes?) please **review**; i love it!

Dean rubbed his eyes, focusing on the annoying alarm which was producing such evil noises at seven-thirty in the morning. He aimed a pillow at the offensive object, smiling when the noise ceased and he turned back around, burrowing in the covers. He didn't want to get up, no matter if he had school or if Dad was cooking breakfast or whatever.

"Get up Dean!" Sam yelled, opening the door to his older brother's room, jumping on his bed. "I've got soccer today and you promised and we gotta get going and Dad's made breakfast and-"

"Sam?" the twelve-year-old stopped, peering intently at his brother. "Shut up. It's seven…"

"But you promised…" Sam whined, and Dean groaned, finally opening his eyes. Sam grinned, and Dean grinned back, pushing the boy, hearing him let out a "humph" as he landed.

"That wasn't very nice, kiddo," John said easily from the door, resting against the doorframe, watching his older son hassle his younger boy. "I'm making some eggs and waffles, so if you want to get ready…"

"I'm coming," Dean finally agreed, and John nodded, giving his eldest a big smile. That was the smile Dean loved to see, the smile that said he had done something good. He got that smile when he took care of Sammy when his father had to go on business trips, or after the time he got his grades up to As. It was the smile that glowed at Dean's mom in the picture of their wedding.

Their mom. She died in a fire when Dean was four. He didn't remember much, but John had told him that he saved Sammy. All he truly remembered was the heat of the fire blistering his skin, and even that was vague and came only on the nights when he had the worst nightmares, which grew few and far between as he grew older.

He shook his head out of his thoughts, kicking his covers off as his father ushered Sam out and shut the door behind him. Dean grabbed clothes out of his dresser, pausing momentarily at the picture of his family when Sam had just been born. It was one of a few they had salvaged from the house after firefighters had put out the blaze. Various others one, some in certain states of duress or with burned and singed edges, were in frames around their house, and every time Sam asked what the photos were from, Dad told a story that Dean barely remembered.

Ten minutes later, he joined his father and brother in the kitchen, sitting at the table as John set a plate in front of him. "Dean, you want to drive the Impala to the game?" Dean looked up, a bright smile on his face.

"Really? Can I?"

"Just don't close your eyes this time. Seriously, son, if you ever expect me to let you get your license, you can't be closing your eyes," John joked, shaking his head. Dean was talented in many ways, but driving…right now, it wasn't his strong suit. John was sure that Dean would excel at this, as he was at everything; this just needed some time and patience.

Mary would have been better at it, but she just wasn't here anymore. She didn't get to see either of the boys graduate kindergarten, or Dean named MVP of his t-ball team, his junior league baseball team, his middle school team, and finally, now, as a catcher on his high school's varsity baseball team. She hadn't got to see Sam grow from that itty bitty baby to the boy he was now, starting on a growth spurt, finally interested in sports, like Dean and John, and still love school.

He missed Mary. He missed her laugh, her smile, her compassion and her _soul_. Most of all, he missed the fact that she had to miss out on their boys' lives.

"Dad, I didn't _exactly_ close my eyes. I just…I was nervous…"

"I'm sure you were," John replied with a smirk, watching Dean shovel in his food. "And we have a little time, so you can actually eat instead of scarfing it down like a pig."

"I wasn't scarfing…" Dean mumbled, trying to slow his feeding frenzy. John's smirk turned to a full-blown smile, and he patted his son on the shoulder.

"Dad! Dean! I gotta go!" Sam exclaimed hurriedly, his eyes big and puppy-doggish and begging for them to hurry because it was _his_ day. With a weary look to his younger son, John sent Mary a prayer to send the boy patience and then beckoned Dean to rush with the food so they wouldn't be late.

--

Sam's team lost 4-0, mostly because their goalie was an inept little boy that probably loved his video games and his comic books more than the sport his parents made him play. Sam, the team's best mid-fielder-at least in Dean's opinion-, had almost scored a goal _three_ times, but the other team was good about keeping with him and singling him out as the best player.

Needless to say, Sam had been devastated. "I just wanted to win so badly. You know, Jason's team, the Nuggets, might go to the championships this year! And Jason gets to try out for the U14 team, and they _never_ ever pick anyone under thirteen to try out. Why can't the Gophers be that good, Dean? What are we doing wrong?"

"I don't know, kiddo," Dean replied softly, knowing better than to lay the truth on Sam at this moment in time. "I play baseball, remember?"

"But you're good at it! Dad said you're ranked." Sam paused, biting into his fries. When Sam's team lost, which was often, Dad took Dean and Sam out for burgers to make the loss feel better. "What does that mean? That you're ranked?"

"It just means that out of the top 100 catchers in the state, some guys who probably are of little importance in their own little world think I'm pretty good. It's nothing-"

"Dad says it's going to take you to college. Is that-"

"I've still got a couple of years before I think about college, Sammy. Let's not talk about that." Dean didn't want to leave his family, especially because he'd be leaving Dad and Sam alone together and that was never good. Also, he didn't think he was one of those people to go to college. Sam, certainly; Sam was one of the smartest kids Dean knew, and he was sure he'd go to one of those smart schools like Duke or Stanford or something. Dean just couldn't picture himself there.

But it was nice that his father thought he was of that sort of quality.

"But you wanna go, right? I mean, college is cool. And it's big. And away from home-"

"And Dean doesn't want to talk about it, Sam," John interrupted-_finally-_ looking at his youngest son. Most days, Sam talked most of his day away. He was very social, very extroverted, and he loved to be surrounded by people. So different from Dean. Sure, Dean was also an extrovert, but he didn't go out of his way to have friends. He just sort of got included in these cliques and stuff because he was handsome and good at baseball. That wasn't to say that Dean didn't have friends and didn't talk; he went for quality, though, whereas Sam went for quantity.

"Dad, do you think I did all right today? Like, all right enough to take my test next week?" It was Dean's turn to be excited. He really wanted his license; he'd be the first among all his friends to have it, and Dean liked coming in first.

"I think you still need some practice, bud, but I don't see why we couldn't make the appointment for three weeks from now. I have to go out-of-town again this weekend, and I want you to get in enough practice-"

He nearly winced as he lied, but there was no way he would tell them the truth, that he hunted demons, that evil things like that were real, and that their mother had been killed by one. He wouldn't expose them to that world, so he kept his hunting to one or two weekends a month, and was very careful with his explanations to Dean and Sam. He _never_ wanted them to find out.

"Does that mean Bobby's staying with us again?" Dean asked, though John knew his eldest though Bobby was a babysitter , and thought that he was too old for one of those.

"No, Dean. I thought maybe you'd be fine looking after Sammy?" Dean's eyes widened in pride, and John knew that was the right move. He knew Dean could take care of Sam if something drastic should happen, and John always carried a cell phone. _Always_. He would never leave them totally alone without him.

--

Dean watched the clock on the other side of the kitchen, Sam watching him eagerly. They had planned a big movie night, and with _The Lion King_ already in the VHS player and were now just waiting on the popcorn. "C'mon, Dean," Sam whispered, his foot tapping against the linoleum floor impatiently.

"I'm going as fast as I can, Sammy," Dean replied in his patronizing tone, the tone that told his brother to sit on the couch and wait patiently. Sam, rebuffed, did as told, nervously bouncing on his hands and feet as he heard the kernels start to pop, one, two, three at a time multiplying on end until there was an endless popping sound. It was a rarity for them to have popcorn; their father couldn't afford much more than to clothe them and keep them on their sports teams; they didn't get luxuries like popcorn.

"Dean, c'mon," Sam whined, finally smiling when Dean dumped the steaming popcorn into a bowl and joined his brother on the thread-bare couch they had gotten at the Salvation Army store. "Thank you for watching with me. Thanks for-"

"Sam, shut up. Let's just watch the movie." Dean settled on the couch, handing Sam the popcorn. Sam's eyes widened in fascination as the movie started, too busy staring at the movie to notice Dean watching him, smiling when Sam smiled at the movie. Finally, he'd done something right, something to deserve the hero-worship that Sam laid on him.

Outside, rain began pouring, lightening striking once or twice. Sam jumped; he had been totally engrossed in the movie, and hadn't noticed the thunderstorm. He paused a moment, listening to the crash of thunder against the wind, amplifying the sound ten fold. He winced, but Dean moved closer to him instinctively, protectively, and Sam gave him a little smile. "Thank you."

"Sam, I'm your big brother. I don't need a thank-you for anything," Dean replied, both of them jumping as they heard a pop outside, their house darkening as the power went out. "I'm going to go get a flashlight, okay? Everything's fine Sam. If you want, I'll call Bobby or Dad…?" Sam knew that Dean would hate to have to call either of them because he didn't want to show them that he couldn't handle something as simple as babysitting.

"No. We'll be okay, right? Just a storm," Sam murmured, and Dean left him on the couch, rifling through the drawers in the kitchen until he came up with the flashlight, his hand hitting something else funny. He turned on the light, shining it at the drawer. _Bullets_. What the hell was his father doing putting bullets into the drawer where Sam could get them. Searching further, he was startled when he found the gun. He quickly shut the drawer, remembering to confront his father about that…that thing. He couldn't ever risk Sam finding it, pulling it out, turning it around and his hand accidentally slipping…

Dean shook his head, turning back to his brother with a grin on his face. "See? Now we have light…"

The house shook, sending Dean flying into the cabinets and Sam toppling over the couch, screaming in pain as it came down on him. "Sam!" Dean yelled, crawling toward his brother, his breathing hard and fast as tears of pain streaked down his face. "Sammy!"

Sam pushed on the couch, trying to kick it off of him as the house shook again. He could hear his brother calling for him but the couch was _really_ heavy, effectively trapping him from the falling debris. _What _was going on? An Earthquake? Not possible, not in Kansas…well, there was a small possibility, but it wouldn't be enough to shake the house and do…this.

"Sam!" Dean's voice permeated his little brother's thoughts, and Sam shook his head as the couch was pushed away, Dean's shaking hands pulling his younger brother up. "Are you okay?" When Sam nodded, Dean look around worriedly.

"What is going on?" Sam whispered, and Dean shrugged, heading back to the drawer that had slammed onto the floor, catching a couple of bullets rolling around. "What is that?"

"It's a gun, Sam. I don't know why it was in that drawer, but if I have to use it, I'm going to," Dean answered, pushing Sam back down as he tried to stand. "Stay there. I'll be back."

"No, Dean! You can't go alone," Sam exclaimed, trying to pull on his older brother's arm, but Dean simply shrugged his brother off, solemn-faced as he headed towards the darkness that was enveloping the house as the lights shut off, one-by-one, surely nothing natural. A power outage would have resulted in all the lights going out at once, not in a sweep as they had. Dean didn't know what he and Sam were dealing with, but he sure as hell wouldn't let anything happen to his brother. He'd die first.

He was trembling, his fingers shaking in fear as he fumbled the flashlight on, letting it bobble in his hands before it rest solidly in his palm, his fingers wrapped around it to end their show of fear. The house was in disarray, things scattered here in there as if they had been pushed off various shelves by a person, except with a tremendous force that would have been impossible for any human.

Dean picked up a picture of his father, Sam, and him, the glass shattered and the frame bent. It had been a good day, in the spring of last year, after Dean's team won their semifinal game.

"_Dean"_ It was whispery, a thin wisp weaving around destruction to reach the teen's ears. He tensed, clinching the gun until his knuckles were white, skin stretched tight across bone. He stood still in place, counting his breaths, praying for them to be as silent as possible. _"Dean, he lies_…"

He couldn't help it; curiosity always killed the cat.

"Who lies?"

A tight hand clasped around his neck, and he was slammed into the wall, the gun caught between his body and the wall, a tight _crunch_ making pain run through his spine. _"He lies about what's out there. You should be afraid of the dark…it's going to kill you."_

His vision was beginning to blacken, and he could no longer feel his fingertips. He knew that he would pass out next, and then…then nothing. He didn't want that; he didn't want that, he didn't want that…

He didn't wasn't to die at sixteen.

"LEAVE MY BROTHER ALONE!" Sam screamed, and he was dropped, abandoned in favor of the younger Winchester. Dean wanted to yell at the boy, but he could only look with tears streaming down his face and gasping breath, the gun dropped beside his body as that _thing_…that _demon_ headed for Sam.

He was hiding again, under the couch, but that wouldn't save him.

He grabbed the gun, working to tighten his fingers around it as he pressed himself against the wall to stand up, his ragged breaths coming quicker as he put right forward, then left, then right, coming closer, closer to Sam, to saving his brother.

"_He lies to you when he says there's no bad. No bad…no bad. There's bad-_"

Dean bit his lip, feeling blood trickle between his teeth as he raised the gun in sheer desperation, squeezing the trigger until he heard the explosion of the bullet from the barrel, hurling toward the would-be killed. It wasn't a regular bullet, though; it thudded into the thing and it _disappeared _in a howl of pain and smoke, Sam dropping as Dean had, gasping for breath as he looked at his brother. "What was that?" he whispered, eyes never leaving his older brother as Dean dropped down beside him, curling around him and settling the gun in his lap.

"I don't know, Sammy. But, whatever it was, it's gone and dead now. And if it isn't, I swear to God I'll shoot it again-" Dean murmured, as hell began and the wind picked up, slinging stuff around and slamming them into the boys, Dean getting the brunt of it as he shielded Sam, cradling that gun as a lifeline, their one way out.

"_He lies to you when he says you're fine. You'll die tonight, Winchester boys, because he lies. And he cheats. And Revenge is bitter sweet. You die tonight, boys, and you'll suffer, and you'll die knowing your father lies."_

_--_

_Sam watched dirt fall of the grave, pile by pile by pile. He was stiff, tense beside his father, a couple of tears staining his cheeks even as anger boiled inside. _

"_Sam-" JOhn whispered, and Sam shook his head, turning from the man._

"_Don't, Dad. Don't try. I will never forgive you," he snapped, walking away from the man as John set fire to the grave, finally getting rid of the demon. John let out a slow breath, feeling a hand on his arm. He turned, looking at the cut hand._

"_I forgive you, Dad," Dean whispered, coughing as the wind started to pick up. He was still weak; Bobby had only given him permission to come out if he bundled up and came right back in and got to bed. "Sam…he'll come around. After all, you're gonna need a lot of help to hunt them all down."_


End file.
